#reboot arc

[immortalosha]

Hello. The Immortal OSHA office is back in business. I need to finish cleaning up the mess whoever ran it previously left behind, but visitors are always welcome.

[hiddenmelody]

Maybe I have an opportunity to try again. But how do I find my voice?

[immortalosha]

*A strange man walks down the hallway. He's carrying what looks to be a large book of... poetry? Or perhaps plays? Either way he's too engaged with it, clearly close to walking into someone*

[That someone is the disheveled man walking right ahead of him, who yelps and almost trips over, but rights himself quickly with surprising grace. He turns around, seeming dazed.]

[immortalosha]

A strange figure with completely white hair and very pale skin is passing by, walking with the heavy use of a wooden staff. They look to be extremely elderly, ancient in fact. Their eyes are covered by a cloth wrapping.

Behind them flies what looks like a corvid-like animal, with feathers so black that she appears like a hole in reality itself, the silhouette broken up only by two glowing emerald-green dots where the eyes should be.

@ewo-official

[He walks up to the figure, shaking slightly. His throat has a jagged, poorly-healed scar across it, where dried blood is caked. His face is pale and sunken in, and his hair is greasy and unkempt. He looks very lost.]

...Hello.

[immortalosha]

Storm feels a sudden jerk, followed by a sickening sense of vertigo, which is in turn followed by the sound of rushing water. A man he recognizes is holding him by the collar, dangling him over an ocean cliff. The man's starry eyes are full of fire and pain.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to see you around, Amara."

@osha-cafeteria-worker

[Storm gasps, feeling nauseous not only from the sense of vertigo, the sense of falling, but also from a sudden, creeping headache. He grasps the mans hands, visibly confused.]

W-What? [He croaks, trying to orient himself.]

[immortalosha]

[He first is aware of the bright lights that blind him, make his already astronomical headache worse. He clutches his head and lays on the cold ground for a while, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to calm down and reorient himself.]

[(He's lost, and afraid, but he doesn't feel fear- he's a soldier, he-)]

[Eventually, his skull no longer feels like it'll split in two, so he sits up. He's hit with a wave of nausea but forces it back down as he examines his surroundings through blurry eyes.]

[He's in a plain hallway that reminds him of- (a home he doesn't remember, except for cold and the smell of chemicals and blood) -something familiar, with simple white walls and a cold tile floor and bright fluorescent lights. He waits for the room to stop spinning and stands up.]

[He doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know who he is- 14. He's... 14. Something-14, but he can't remember why. (The fourteeth of something important.)]

[He doesn't like 14. (The fourteenth of what? The fourteenth of them- people, his friends, and they're gone, and he's here.)]

[He tries to think back, but he can't remember much of anything.]

[(Isolation, blood, chemicals and gunpowder, happiness, annoyance- and then it's gone.)]

[He touches his neck, and his hand comes back wet. (Should he be alive?) There's no injury. (They killed him.)]

[He looks down the hallway, hearing... people. Maybe they can help- (he doesn't want help, doesn't want weakness, can't be held back) -and he can figure things out.]

[He lurches forward and begins his trek.]